


A Nest of Blood and Bones

by BonesAndScales



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Body Worship, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, M/M, Smitten Hannibal Lecter, Tenderness, Will is a Mess, what am I supposed to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-22 23:13:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16607228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonesAndScales/pseuds/BonesAndScales
Summary: Will lifts his hand in a vain attempt to follow his reason, only for his fingertips to betray him and graze the cold silk of Hannibal’s tie, a terrible, conceited bright thing, a pattern too much on the preposterous suit. Very fitting for the man wearing it.Kinktober Day 16: Frottage | Body Worship





	A Nest of Blood and Bones

**Author's Note:**

> Did anyone ask for fluffy corny smut? No? Have some anyway.
> 
> Big thank you to [justlikeyouimagined](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikeyouimagined/pseuds/justlikeyouimagined), without whom this thing never would have made it past the first draft, and to [Niceven (Silace)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silace/pseuds/Niceven) and [HigherMagic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigherMagic/pseuds/HigherMagic) for the support and for convincing me to post this. Love you guys!
> 
> Enjoy!

 

Will reclines in the armchair, brings the tumbler of whiskey to his lips and takes a slow, languid sip. His eyelids are heavy, lulled by the soft glow of the flame dancing in the hearth. His body feels light, his mind hazy with contentedness. He desperately needs this kind of peace after the internal battle he fought all day when they were at the stables, and during the ensuing dinner as he navigated his way through Hannibal’s little game of deadly courtship.

He does not react when Hannibal’s shadow engulfs him, momentarily hiding him from the firelight.

It should feel threatening.

Will embraces his presence, his warmth; basks in the sense of security his broad frame hovering over his gives him. A hand settles under his, taking the tumbler away, fingers brushing over fingers in a lover’s caress. Will does not try to keep it. The good whiskey is not going to disappear. Hannibal has plenty of bottles he can 'borrow’ in the various liquor cabinets he has strewn throughout the house.

“I think you’ve had enough for tonight, Will,” comes Hannibal’s voice, ever so soft, ever so gentle. An elegant contrast to his sharp, unforgiving personality.

His looming shadow leaves Will’s sight, and his eyes squeeze shut as the light of the fire scorches his retinas. A soft whimper escapes his lips, and he presses a hand to his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He should leave.

He does not. He does not want to. He does not need to. They move around a delicate balance, both too wary and too curious to upend it. Two predators, neither tamed, and still dancing in each other’s palms, here in this little nest of blood and bones.

Hannibal’s shadow returns, warm and protective. Possessive. His hand finds the knot of Will’s tie, the back of his fingers just shy of his neck. It gently tugs on the knot, easing it off inch by inch. Will swallows, the tip of his Adam’s apple grazing Hannibal’s knuckles. The tie comes off in a hiss of silk, fresh and slick. A snake’s skin. The hands then touch the first button of his dress shirt. Will cannot see, but a shiver runs down his back as he can distinctly hear, feel the button popping free. It should not feel so intimate, so _obscene._

And yet.

Will’s breath catches in his throat as the hands move down to the second.

“What are you doing,” he asks in a whisper, a huff of breath, the flame of lucidity flickering amidst the haze of content.

“Making you more comfortable,” is Hannibal’s simple answer. Not a hint of self consciousness, not a hint of shame. Hannibal does not feel shame. Will envies him, sometimes. He envies him the ease, the social grace, the nonchalance. The utter disrespect for human morality. Deep down, in the part of him where dwell the things he longs to tear out, Will envies him the self love.

He should stop him.

He does not.

He lifts his hand in a vain attempt to follow his reason, only for his fingertips to betray him and graze the cold silk of Hannibal’s tie, a terrible, conceited bright thing, a pattern too much on the preposterous suit. It is very fitting for the man wearing it. It is endearing.

Will’s finger slips into the knot and Hannibal stills, observing him, curiosity etched onto his features.

“You should be comfortable too,” Will says, quiet, “This is your home.” He can’t possibly believe that Hannibal is always in a three piece suit even when he is alone. He has to have some casual clothes somewhere, well hidden between bespoke suits. Will has a sudden need to see him in casual clothes. Whatever ‘casual’ means for the man.

It takes him a few tries, but he finally manages to ease off the knot. However, the tie is tucked into Hannibal’s vest and one look at the unending line of buttons has Will sighing in defeat and drop his hand back to his lap, his eyes falling close again.

Hannibal chuckles—and does not it sound delightful? No malice, no mockery. Just unadulterated joy. Will likes this sound—and his hands leave Will for a moment. For a minute, there is only the sound of ruffling, and clothes hissing over clothes. Then Hannibal’s hands return to Will and he opens his eyes again. The jacket is gone, so is the vest, so is the tie. A small smile tugs on his lips. He reaches for Hannibal again, fumbling with the first button of his dress shirt. Hannibal lifts his chin to allow him better access and the button comes undone easily.

“Satisfied?” Hannibal asks him, playful and smug. Cocky bastard.

“No.”

Will grabs the collar of his shirt—feels a savage, unwarranted pleasure as he crushes the voice screaming bloody murder in his head—and yanks him forward. Their noses bump together, and they almost hit their foreheads as their lips meet at an awkward angle, teeth clacking together painfully. It is perfect.

Will sighs into the kiss as Hannibal tilts his head to the side to readjust the angle and better slot their mouths together. His hands slip around Hannibal’s neck, pulling him closer.

Hannibal’s hands close around the lapels of Will’s jacket and he breaks the kiss to push it off his shoulders. After a little wriggling, it finally comes off and Hannibal throws it on the back of the chair, long forgotten already, before leaning down to capture Will’s mouth again. His fingers return to Will's shirt, slowly working their way down the buttoned placket.

Will should stop him. He should stop this. He should stop.

He does not.

When Hannibal's fingers reach the end of the placket, they eagerly slip inside, gliding over Will's skin. A tongue strokes the seam of Will’s lips and he parts them, lets Hannibal lick inside his mouth as he pleases, explore and discover. Claim and mark. He moans into the kiss, revelling the soft caress of Hannibal’s hands on his chest and belly.

They part for air with a wet _smack_ , a small trail of saliva connecting their mouths for a second. A quick inhale of breath and Will surges forwards again. His turn to explore and discover. Claim and mark. A moan coming from deep inside Hannibal’s throat sends a flurry of sparks low in his belly.

Hannibal breaks the kiss first, moving on to Will’s stubbled chin, teeth grazing his skin gently. Will chuckles and blindly reaches for Hannibal’s dress shirt again, struggling to pop the buttons. He briefly considers just ripping them off, but decides against it.

“How much time do you lose dressing in the morning?” he asks, battling with a stubborn buttonhole.

“Probably as much time you lose tending to all your dogs.”

Will wants to be offended but the corner of his mouth twitches upwards instead. The Chesapeake Ripper just sassed him. This is surreal. “Fair.”

He tilts his head back as Hannibal leaves a trail of kisses down his neck, nipping on the sensitive skin, lapping at his collarbones and the junction of his neck and shoulder. Will lets out a content sigh, his hands momentarily stopping their slow descent on Hannibal’s unending shirt.

And then the shadow of Hannibal’s body disappears, no longer looming over him. Will’s eyes snap open. Hannibal has kneeled in front of him, between his parted thighs. The rational part of Will’s brain knows that the earlier position would have been increasingly uncomfortable if he has stayed up and kept kissing his way down, the romantic part of his brain sends a rush of blood in his cheeks, enamoured to see such a dignified man sinking to his knees for him, and the horny part of his brain, well, that part does not think and just wants to push Hannibal’s head down onto his crotch, demanding a world class quality blowjob.

Will swallows, forcing that last part down, and settles for gentle pets into the man’s hair as he lavishes Will’s chest with open mouthed kisses. Sharp teeth close onto one of his nipples and Will squeaks, fingers tightening in Hannibal’s hair. A warm tongue soon replaces the deadly set of teeth, and Will groans as the pain subsides and turns into pleasure.

His thighs spread some more as Hannibal’s mouth gets lower and lower, painting the canvas of his body with blooming roses, red and purple. He chuckles when Hannibal gets over the ticklish skin of his belly, sucks in a breath as his tongue slips into his navel for a moment. Will’s hands move to Hannibal’s neck, his thumbs massaging into the corded muscles, a silent praise and encouragement. His hips jerk forward involuntarily when Hannibal starts mouthing at his cock through the thick material of his trousers.

Hannibal’s hands grab the buckle of his belt and his ministrations stop as he looks up at Will.

Will sends him an incredulous look. “You’re asking for consent _now_?”

“I am, indeed.”

“What am I consenting to?”

The bastard has the galls to grin at him. “For now, just fellatio.”

And holy shit, hearing the word _fellatio_ come out of Hannibal’s smug mouth should not be turning him on. Will puts his hands on Hannibal’s head, pushing him down to break the eye contact. “Just get on with it, Jesus,” he hisses between clenched teeth.

Hannibal makes quick work of his belt and fly, while kissing the trail of hair leading to his crotch. He licks a hot line over Will’s cock through his boxers, making Will’s breath hitch and his hands grip onto Hannibal’s shirt.

Hannibal hooks his fingers into the elastic band of his boxers and pulls them down finally freeing his erection. It springs out of the confines of his underwear, already hard and leaking. Hannibal leaves a peck on the head—Will puffs out a laughter, endeared at the sight—before his tongue darts out of his mouth to lick off the drop of pre-come spilling from the slit. He sucks the head into his mouth and Will’s breath catches in his throat. He runs his hands over Hannibal’s hair, the nape of his neck, the tops of his shoulders, lower lip caught between his teeth.

Hannibal slowly descends onto him and soon the head of Will’s cock touches the back of his mouth. Will gasps when Hannibal keeps pushing down, until his nose in buried into coarse pubic hair, and his mouth is sealed around the base of his cock. Will’s mouth falls open around a soft moan, hips bucking up involuntarily. Hannibal sets up a slow rhythm, slowly pulling away, cheeks hollowed out, then going back down, swallowing around Will’s cock and tearing soft mewls from him.

Soon, far too soon, Hannibal lets go with a wet— _obscene_ —pop and Will moans in protest, trying to push him down again.

With a quiet chuckle, Hannibal shakes Will’s hands off his head and they settle on his shoulders instead. He starts pulling on Will’s trousers and Will lifts his hips to help him take them off. Hannibal takes his time, kissing every inch of skin he reveals, eyes cast down reverently. Will reclines in his seat, his gaze half mast and fond as Hannibal conquers more and more land on his way down. His shoes and socks come off with the trousers and underwear, and soon Will is left with nothing but his open dress shirt.

He should feel self conscious.

He does not. He only feels comfort in the soft warmth of the parlour, nestled in the high backed plush armchair, with Hannibal kneeling in front of him, and the both of them enclosed in the swaying light of the hearth.

Hannibal lifts his right foot to his mouth, peppers kisses along his toes and instep, over the bridge and around his ankle.

“Never thought you’d have a thing for feet,” Will says, because he can.

“I never thought so either.”

Hannibal licks a hot stripe over the fine bone of his ankle. Will shudders, carves this moment into his memory. It will haunt him—in his dreams, in the depth of his fantasies, in the throes of passion—the sight of Hannibal on his knees before him, for him, treasuring every part of him he is allowed to have. Right now, Will would let him have everything, let him have him whole and be devoured. And then, devour him in return.

Hannibal makes his way back up again, carefully, to warm every inch of skin he can reach with his mouth, his tongue, his teeth; he maps every bit of land he is gifted, slow and languorous. Will feels himself sliding slightly off the chair, head tilting back. He lets Hannibal explore as he pleases, simply enjoying it, and basking in the warmth of the room, in the heat of Hannibal’s hands, and the calm of his mind. Will lets himself enjoy the devotion he sees in every movement, in the caress of his tongue, of his palms, of his lips.

When Hannibal is leaning over Will’s lap again, nipping his way up his thigh, Will’s hands find their way back into his hair, and slide down to catch the collar of his shirt to pull him up, pull him closer, pull him until they breath each other's air again.

“Oh hi there,” he says, as their noses rub together. “Long time no see.”

“Good evening, Will,” Hannibal replies, indulging him. He pecks Will’s lips. Just a greeting. “Good to see you.”

“How was your journey?”

The corner of Hannibal’s mouth ticks up minutely. “Full of discoveries.”

Will tugs him forwards for a kiss, deeper, sweeter. Hannibal’s hands move to his shirt to pull it off his shoulders, while Will’s make quick work of Hannibal’s belt and fly. He hooks his fingers in the elastic band, and pushes down. Hannibal takes him by the waist—a sure, solid hold—and drags him off the chair. Will chuckles as he is pulled down onto his lap, both of them now kneeling on the fluffy, expensive rug.

“Did I consent to this?” Will asks. He can be facetious too.

“Did I?”

Will shrugs, momentarily donning Hannibal’s ease. “Guess we’re at a dead end.”

“Shall we stop?”

Yes.

“No.”

Will slides closer to him until their chests are pressed flush—it is a nice sensation, coarse hair against his skin. He sucks in a breath when their cocks touch, trapped between their bodies. Will starts to roll his hips against Hannibal, setting up an unhurried pace, just appreciating the slow drag and the heat of Hannibal’s cock against his. His hands cup Hannibal’s face, and he takes his mouth in a deep kiss again, hips grinding down.

Hannibal’s hands grab his ass cheeks, give them a first squeeze, and guide his movements as they push against each other. Will moans into Hannibal’s mouth. It has been so long, probably an eternity ago. Another time, another life. He breaks the kiss, his head tilting back briefly before he looks down at Hannibal again, unafraid to meet those cruel eyes, brimming with adoration.

“Feels good,” he says, because it does. It does. It feels good. It feels better than he can remember. No foreign thoughts assault his mind. Nothing but Hannibal’s pleasure and his own, merged together, indiscernible from one another.

A spark of joy shoots up his spine at the pleasure lighting up in Hannibal’s eyes, his pupils eating up his irises. His hands tighten over Will’s ass, pulling him closer still.

Will wraps his arms around Hannibal’s neck and leans forward, cradling his head, holding him close. They will not last, he knows. But this does not bother him, this does not bother Hannibal. This is enough. This is their first greeting. The first merging of their mind, a delicate fusion, a fragile balance; it ought to be handled with utmost care, lest it leaves them shattered again, like everything before this.

Will picks up the pace when he feels the end approaching, both his and Hannibal’s. Their breaths quicken, and it does not take long before they are left panting heavily, grinding against each other for purchase. They will come together, Will knows, he feels it. Hannibal’s hands move from his ass to snake around his waist instead, holding him close, tight. Almost desperate. It makes Will realises how tight his own hold on Hannibal is. His thighs are clasped hard, bracketing Hannibal’s hips, Holding him down, and his arms keep his face flush against his neck.

Now.

Will’s chin snaps up as the orgasm washes over him, both his spike of pleasure and Hannibal’s reach him through the high of his release. His vision blanks, mouth open around a silent moan.

It takes him a moment to come down from the high, limbs buzzing, lungs ablaze. He blinks a few times, clearing the stars from his vision, swallows once and realises how sore his throat is. Has he been screaming? He did not even hear himself over the din of the blood roaring in his ears. Hannibal is panting just as heavily as him, struggling to regain his breath. Will sags against him, letting his weight lay on Hannibal, trusting him to keep him up.

After a few more greedy gulps of air, Hannibal’s crushing, painful hold around Will’s waist loosens a bit, allowing his ribcage to expand, and Will can finally take in a full breath. Hannibal leans to the side, and lays them both down onto the rug, cushioning Will’s fall with his arms. Will goes willingly, pliant and sated.

For a long time they just lay there in a loose embrace, basking in the heat of the afterglow, breathing in each other’s scent, their own, and the musky smell of sex. The sweat and their come are slowly cooling on their skin, but the fire is making a valiant attempt to keep them in a comfortable cocoon of warmth.

When Will shivers, Hannibal holds his waist again, and rolls them over so Will is closer to the hearth, still cradled in his arms. Will can’t help the chuckle pushing past his lips, ragged and wheezy, his throat still sore, his breath still short. Hannibal may be a violent and ruthless killer, but he is so fond of his manners. All polite and considerate. It is endearing.

Smile still tugging his lips, Will snuggles closer in his arms, braced between the fire and Hannibal’s frame.

They should probably get up, and clean themselves—Will would not say no to a hot shower. They do not. They stay there, basking in each other’s presence. No words needed. Just gentle caresses, and slow breaths, a few kisses peppered here and there, not to rekindle the flame, but to marvel at the other’s presence.

Hannibal drops a kiss on the crown of his head. “Hello, Will,” he says, quiet and playful.

Will puffs out a soft laugh. “Hey there, Hannibal,” Will answers, delighted at the spark that erupts in Hannibal’s chest at the sound of his name, that expands to his mind, and to Will’s. “How’s it going?”

Hannibal nods slowly, his chin bumping into Will’s head, sending him in another puff of laughter. “Life took a very unexpected turn.”

“The unfortunate kind of unexpected?”

“Not at all. The most pleasant kind of unexpected.”

“Mhm. And how's that make you feel?”

“Good.”

“Yeah?”

“Ecstatic.”

Will snorts. Ridiculous man. “That's a strong reaction for a little bit of frottage.”

“Dare I say a religious experience.”

Will lifts his chin, levelling his eyes to Hannibal. “Found god in a lover?”

“And the devil right on his shoulder,” he says, leaning in to peck Will's mouth.

“I should be the one saying this.”

“Are we to become lovers then?”

Will hums dismissively, nuzzling his head back against Hannibal's neck. Distantly, he wonders what it is exactly that he consented to, and what this will entail for their relationship, and their respective plans. The thought quickly gets lost inside the mist of the afterglow.

He should leave, should go back to Wolf Trap.

But it has been so long since he has shared someone’s warmth; it is the first time he’s shared someone’s mind. It is comforting. It is addicting. Will did not want to acknowledge it but he knew, deep down, when he came up with this plan that somewhere along the way he would get too close, and that when he did, he would not be able to come back.

They have both crossed the point of no return, and right now, neither of them could care less.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos give me life :D


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